


Like Falling Stars in February

by Serotiny



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: 4+1 chapters, 6 Impossible Things Before Breakfast, F/M, Gen, Sassiness Abounds, eventual Bamon, little!Bonnie, snarky conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 10:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serotiny/pseuds/Serotiny
Summary: or alternatively, The Five Times Damon Asked Bonnie to Dance and the One Time She Said Yes. Impossible things are happening everyday. Even a judgmental witch and an immoral vampire learning to at least tolerate the other's existence. Strongly Bamon-flavored.





	1. In Which a Dashing Young Man Meets His Annoying Solution

**Author's Note:**

> in honor of the occurrence of the total eclipse in the US, a rare "falling star in February", I present to you...

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Like Falling Stars in February

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The vampire walked through the woods on steady feet. Over the centuries, this particular path had been carved into the ground by the same family. Indentions from where the rain had fallen last night were as smooth and pliable as clay. He wished that the rain on the tip of falling from the overhanging clouds would stay airborne a little longer. Unlike during the winter months where if were to fall, it would at least be cooling; during the summer months, it would just be uncomfortable. The rain would coalesce on his skin and the clear drops would just compound the moisture already heavy in the air.

He sighed and missed the low-hanging branch that  _thwack_ ed him in the face. This is why he hated the South and the Eastern seaboard in general. Water would not evaporate before the next rainfall and the air would remain muggy.

Damon paused; the breeze finally reappeared and within its flow, pine needles and sap. His chest expanded as he further inhaled the scent on the wind.  _There_! The fragrance of caramel and of clay was immersed in the forest's perfume. He ignored the overwhelming smell of the trees and focused on the evasive incense; his body turned slightly to the south.

With a faster pace, he allowed his feet to travel along the ethereal trail left behind. Trees and bushes blurred past him as he kept his eyes forward. When he clearly saw the girl, he immediately paused and stated, "Wow, you look absolutely silly."

The little Bennett witch calculatedly stared at him with both hands on her head. The little girl had no shoes on and was wearing summery green shorts and a bluish tank top. The ground was covered with stamped pine needles in what was obviously a cleared space. A bulky boom box radio was nestled in the trunk of the tree and continued to blare some repetitive song. She was alone. Her curly head slightly tilted as if to assess him and decide if he were worth her time. Deeming him to be unthreatening (clearly, she was ignorant of her family's heritage) she went back to her self-appointed task.

It was not until the third verse in the annoying song that he realized she was dancing (or at least attempting) to the Macarena. Her jerky movements tried to follow the specific order in the well-known song but it seemed as if she only saw the dance one time. During a dream. When she was drunk. After her fifth attempt to fully complete the silly dance, Damon could not help but propose, "I could show you how to do the dance."

She did not spare him one glance and continued her macabre version.

"You're just going to ignore me? I'm giving you very valuable opportunity here to not embarrass yourself in front of your fellow preschoolers."

Pine needles and dirt crunching underfoot were the only vocal response he received. He literally saw her nose rise in the air and her eyes tightly screw shut. The song was nearing the end and she was still doing a near perfect rendition of the hokey-pokey but a horrible form of the Macarena.

The dance was actually rather annoying and he hated when it came on in the clubs. The only reason he was offering was to gain the confidence of the little witch. He might have promised Emily to protect her descendants, but that did not necessarily mean that they trusted him. It was best to befriend them when they were young and then nicely ask them to open the tomb were Katherine was trapped. "Come on, short stack! Toss me a bone!"

The horrid song finally ended and the girl spun on her toes to the radio. Damon belatedly realized that the supposed radio was actually some oversized cassette player. As she squatted in front of it, light fingers pressed the rewind button  _and_  turned up the volume. Great. While she (and now himself, he guessed) were waiting for it to get back to the beginning, she promptly asked, "Is your name Scooby Dooby Doo?"

"Umm…No?" Finally hearing hear voice was the reason that his answer was hardly witty.

Green eyes pierced him as she continued, "Astro?" He felt his arms automatically beginning to cross as the trace of a frown flashed across his face; eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

"Nooo.." he drew out the word.

"Shiloh?"

"Of course not, but I don't see where you going with this." He quickly paced forward and abandoned his branch covering completely. The child, to her credit, just flinched slightly and pretended to remember that she should probably press play on the radio. She turned back to the electronic and pressed play and then pause.

Shoulders slumped in as she recalled, "Grams says that I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Oh." The proverbial wind was taken from his sails and his posture deflated. He then remembered that he was supposed to be befriending her, not frightening her. Damon slowly sank to the ground but not before scooting towards her a couple of inches. Needles poked through his faded jeans but he ignored the irritation with practiced ease. "So?" he prompted.

"So…?" She repeated, her head turning to glance at him and throw the question back at him. Emerald eyes flitted from his face to her cassette player in a silent warning to the amount of time she was allotting him.

 _Damned brat._ This was why he hated children. They whined about getting their way and forced mature adults to cater to their every whim. Then, they asked stupid questions to understand every nuance of the conversation when, in reality, they should just shut up and obey and trust that capable adults knew what they were talking about.

He smiled and sweetly asked, "What's your name?"

"Oh." Her little face pinched together before calmly explaining that she could not tell him her name.

The smile froze on his face and his left eye started to slightly twitch. "Why not?"

She uncomfortably grabbed three branches and started fluidly braiding them together. One pine, two eucalypts, he absently noted. She neither answered his question nor looked him in the eye.

"See," he said, leaning his body forward and patting the curly, dark hair in a show of affable kindness, "I'm hoping that your impressionable little mind will forget me in a couple of years and we'll be able to start over in a couple more years. So, if you could just tell me your name..."

Damon jerked his hand as the girl abruptly sat up. She stiffly brushed her shorts from some indistinguishable dirt speck and flounced toward the music player. The radio was rather hefty and she was forced to pick it up with both of her dirt-streaked hands. The rather awkward shape forced her to assume a waddling stance. She turned towards where he assumed she lived. Though Damon was more than capable of helping, he wasn't offering and she wasn't asking. The slight fear she showed earlier was absent as she waddled past him with the air of a regal queen.

He perversely enjoyed her struggle before calling out, "Where are you going?"

"I'm not supposed to. Talk. To. Strangers." Her self-imposed march did not break stride as she gave the flippant remark. The vampire spared one last glance for the created clearing before effortlessly catching up with the kid.

"Well, give me your name and I'll give you mine," he reasoned, "then we won't be strangers! That's half of a friendship, right?"  _I'm pretty sure the best way to beat a child is to outsmart them. Confound them with logic and watch them squirm as they are forced to concede your point_. He quickly hid his smirk when he saw the little Bennett glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

When she was satisfied that Damon was not joking, she carefully contemplated it before saying, "No."

This time, her short response did not deter him in the slightest and he easily asked, "What else is there to friendship?" He slowed his pace even further as her march slowed to practically a crawl.

"Knowing stuff about the other person." The eye twitch was definitely back. There went his plans for the rest of the day to explore old haunts and sample some different types of bourbon. Time to turn the conversation back on her.

"Okay, tell me about yourself." There was no way that he was going to lose to some self-righteous—

"No."

"Alright you're beginning to sound like a broken record, squirt. How about I tell you a little fact about myself?"

Unsure of herself, she gave a slow, drawn out, "…Okay…" before she came to halt and painstakingly carefully set down her load. Then, she sat crisscross on the soft, scented ground and rested her elbows on her knees. She did all of this with the rapt, serious attention of a graduate student preparing to take notes on their thesis; Damon had to bite his lip from laughing outright. He doubted humor would have alleviated her solemn air and suspected that she would just leave at any perceived slight. He made a show of sitting across from her and ruffling her hair. She ignored his actions and waited patiently for the response.

"I'm very, very old."

She pouted as his answer made her livid. "No! That's cheating! That doesn't count! All grown-ups say that. For Show-and-Tell, Tyler Lockwood brought a dead cricket he found by the creek. Everyone knows that's boring, so all the kids at recess ignored him." She giggled, "He was so mad." Damon's baiting must have been working because she did not get up to leave.

"And I just remembered the cruelty of children," he mumbled. A blustery day, skipping flat stones, and Stefan's crumpled, babyish face flashed through his mind.

"What?" He would have smirked at her for her perplexed face if he wasn't already, one, trying to get her to like him and, two, he didn't already feel the tendrils of annoyance creeping into his mind. Of all the oddness of a strange man watching her, alone, in the woods, this was what she found confounding?  _Maybe because of her upbringing, she's use to strange stuff…_

"Nothing. I just thought it was funny that that's the most I've hard you say yet. Anyways, I feel as if we already know  _sooooo_  much about each other. Are we friends yet?"

"Nope!" She pointed her dirt, sticky fingers at him and looked him square in the eye when she stated, "You gotta give me real diddly-squat." She  _had_ to take some amount of pleasure from answering him in the negative because Damon did not know anyone who so easily climbed up the charts of Most Annoying Person. She was hardly even trying and she was approaching Stefan-level of Annoying. That was not even taking into account her age and that Stefan was more than a hundred years plus her senior.

"Diddly?"

"Yup," she nodded so vigorously that he was slightly surprised that her head did not fly off her neck. "Grams says that Papa doesn't know diddly-squat about magic or anything else. So, if you give me diddly-squat I'll consider it."

"Wow, great grammar; it sounds like Grams is still the same little, interfering b—"

"Watch your mouth," she said severely. This time, her disgustingly sappy fingers poked him in the chest, leaving a thin bridge of golden amber connecting them. He could not stop his nose from scrunching together in revulsion. "When you say mean things, you're asking for a can of butt-whooping."

"Self-righteous little thing, aren't you? I was just going to say busybody," he quipped innocently. The skeptical, green eye she pinned him with inadvertently gave him what her opinion of his response was.

"Okay, okay." He said, placating. "Sheesh… Well, based on our conversation, I know that you have a grandmother and a father." A foxy grin appeared as the witch attempted to decipher if how he got his information would be considered cheating. She gave a brief, unsure nod, indicating that he should continue. Her ending opinion would decide if the information he presented was acceptable.

Well, that could be a problem. He already knew about her grandmother—he met her about fifty years prior. The extent of his knowledge stopped with that particular Bennett witch. He could have told her practically anything about her ancestors but he doubted that she would believe her. He was stuck.

It was not until he was floundering for another factoid, did he notice that the little girl was looking longingly at the discarded, forlorn radio. Ah-ha! Having a short attention span sucked for little kids, but it just gave him a clue. "Alright, I know that you can't dance the Macarena!"

Surprisingly, she gave him a hurt look. "So?"

He forged forward, "I can show you how to do it." He fluidly stood to his feet, brushed his backside and offered his hand. Neither were shocked when she ignored the offered hand.

Instead, she timidly asked "Really?" Like she was expecting the adult to laugh at her; her huge, jade orbs gazed at him hopefully. The mugginess that he had ignored up to that point made him brutally aware as he shifted uncomfortably from side to side. Damon felt a small pang of pity for this strange little girl dancing alone in the forest. What had seemed hilarious at the time (she really must have only seen the dance one time) echoed of seclusion; wasn't she at the age where kids gathered and played on the streets while parents watched from the comfort of their porch? So far, she only really talked about her dad, some kid named Tyler Lockwood, and her grandmother. Family and trouble-makers were not exactly normal playmates. She must be really lonely to happily interact with him.

He shook his head and immediately emptied all feelings of pity. She was only a means to an end. As long as she could fulfill Emily's promise, he owed her nothing else, neither comfort nor pity. "Yeah, what are friends for?"

"Okay. Show me but stay right there." She happily stood up, but remained in a laidback stance, waiting to watch and judge.

After giving her a dumbfounded stare he whined, "Aww, but it's more fun if we do it together."

Silence. Her arms crossed in an annoyed position and she rocked back and forth with impatience.

"Okay," he mollified, "don't look so cross." After motioning to her to press play, the little witch practically bounced to the radio with a gleeful face. Like a light switch, her face went from demonically exuberant to comically introspective.

With an appropriately reciprocal somber expression, he stuck his arms out with the precision of a typewriter. Left palm down. Right palm down. Left palm up. Right palm up. Faster and faster, his movements became a flurried commotion. He decided to add a spin and eventually was outpacing the song.

Because of his vampiric hearing, he knew that any wild life that had mustered the courage to explore the immediate vicinity quickly vacated. Overriding the undercurrent of fear and panic came the chiming of bells.

No, that was the sound of the Bennett witch laughing. Only a five year-old could laugh with that reckless wild abandon, not fearing being judged. He paused for a moment (maybe longer) in his dance to see the extraordinary event of this peculiar child acting her age. Honey lips were parted as caramel arms clutched her shaking sides. Damon wondered if he should be affronted that his dancing was  _that_  hilarious but then reminded himself that he did not care what a kid thought of him.

"And that's how you do the Macarena." He said anticlimactically.

"Oh. Okay, thank you." After wiping her nose and scrubbing furiously at her eyes, she gave a quick nod of approval. She skipped to the radio and turned off. This time she rested it on her nonexistent left hip and clutched it with both hands.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Home." Her eyes were sparkling as she turned in the direction of her house. "It's almost dinner time." His eyebrows quirked as he noticed for the first time that sun indeed was almost down. Celestial lights were beginning to unveil themselves in the azure sky and the temperature was slightly dropping to a less suffocating level. Cicadas began their tuneless hum and brushing pine needles began their slight harmony.

This time, he did not follow ( _with my luck, that old witch is probably looking for the brat now and I'd probably run into her_ ); instead, he called out: "But we had a deal, squirt! Your name for the dance lessons!"

"No, it was my name for yours. The dancing was because you're nice." she corrected. Her slow shuffle was beginning to transform into a slight jog as she realized that she was really supposed to be home now.

If Damon told her his name, she might tell someone else or her grandma; he risked the chance of someone recognizing it and leading the council breathing down his neck. Strangely enough, he did not want to give her a pseudonym.  _She could probably tell I'm lying,_ he reasoned. He would rather that her strange day would recede into the foggy depths of childhood memories. "…I'm not going to do that."

"Alright, bye." She obligingly gave him a free slight smile.

"See you around," he drawled cautiously.

"I don't talk to strangers," she reminded patiently.

She didn't even spare the odd stranger a backwards glance.

Silence echoed across the trees and was only slowed down by the humidity in the air. Animals began to lumber from their dens, preparing to prowl during the twilight. The vampire was left alone in the forest.

He continued to watch the curly head struggle with her load until the pines blocked his view. Even then, he concentrated his hearing so that he could hear when she got to her house. After hearing the exclamation of a more mature voice and the beginnings of a scolding, he blocked out the voices. He remained motionless for a few more beats before  _humph_ ingand turning on his heels in the direction of the Salvatore boarding , getting Katherine out of the tomb was beginning to look a lot harder. And, if Damon were honest with himself, at least a little more amusing.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo


	2. In Which Distinctive Pieces of Shakespeare's Works Are Calmly Discussed

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Like Falling Stars in February

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

 

The bass instrument beat a compelling rhythmic sway, in time to the flashing iridescent lights overhead. A shot glass, had specks of clear amber, glazing the bottom and vibrating in time to the beat; it edged, closer and closer to the edge of the bar. The possibility of an unnecessary mess escaped the notice to the lone customer.

He was practically dribbling onto the bar, the stool hardly taking his weight. Listlessly, he trailed his finger through spilled drops of his bourbon, creating an invisible, endless trail of swirls. His head was burrowed in his arm and the only way to tell that he was not unconscious was the constant swaying of his head and how is legs twisted from side to side (it was still hard to tell though).

It was to this heartbreaking scene that short legs glanced at and meandered to, cutting through the crowd that was actually having a good time. She noticed the sleek brown hair unbury itself and peer blearily at the dancers in the middle of the club. The monster on the floor allowed people out of its maw and to flash into existence with bright lights. Bright hues from auburn to azure and back again indicated their emergence before disappearing back into the beast's beast, writhing on the floor.

The crowd held no interest to either spectator, but the brunette was eyeing a beautiful blonde with legs sky-high. He was already slouching out of the chair and fixing a careless smirk to his face when a curly hair blocked his view of the stunning beauty.

"I wouldn't if I were you." Her lips were puckered and her hands rested on her hips, the picture of discontent. Internally, the young man sighed and shifted his weight; with this sneaky endeavor, he could just catch the faintest whiff of perfume and the singlest, most alluring, sultry smil— Her short stature shifted as well, quickly catching onto his game. She gave a brief sigh and put her hands on his shoulder and made him turnabout.

"How could I even contemplate having a little fun with Inspector friggin' Javert breathing over my shoulder?" He allowed her to lead him back to his seat for one reason and one reason only, it was impossible to dissuade a determined Bennett witch. The best course of action was to agree with whatever she felt the need to preach at him and wait for her to get bored. Then, maybe he would still have a chance with that beautiful blonde tilting her head seductively, wanting him to dance with her…

"Affectionate words like that don't necessarily endear me to your self-pitying party." First, the witch needed to be dealt with. He arranged his face to present her with his brightest, most glaring grin.

"So what's a little bitch like you doing here?" Being blunt tended to work on most girls, right? Hopefully, his rather rude mouth would drive her away and she could go find another choir to preach to. (Clearly, the alcohol was inhibiting any logical functions in his brain.)

"Surprisingly, calling me a bitch makes me like you even less." She returned his grin with a sweet smile, illustrating the sentiment. Damon could not believe that he forgot that the witch was not like most girls. The crossed arms already indicated he was in for a long lecture; she wasn't going anywhere.

"Congratulations! I didn't think it was possible to have my hatred for you grow but I guess wonders never cease." She ignored how Damon sagged back onto the stool and studiously tried to ignore her. While his forehead was slightly banging the wood, she gently moved his shot glass from the edge where it was about to bounce off. The bartender that strode over to the couple to offer drinks, turned pale at the piercing glare of hazel eyes, slowed down, stopped, and spun, practically running to another location. He so did not want any confrontations tonight. "Besides, I thought that little nickname was reserved for your girlfriend, Kather—"

"What's in a name?" he made a vague motion in their air, trying to appear learned, "That which we call a witch separates itself from a bitch by one impotent letter." He suddenly remembered that he had had a drink earlier and beckoned the bartender with simply a look. The bartender teetered, back and forth, deciding who he would be able to walk away from a fight unscathed. The man appeared rather drunk and the woman was still giving him the evil eye. He made his decision—he scurried to another customer.

"Wow. You're in a good mood tonight." Great, now she was descending onto the seat with the sort of finality of an avenging angel would have. "They must be serving the good stuff tonight. Damnéd, wretched,  _vile_ humans." She feigned a sneer at the other patrons. "How dare they not think that their lives are meant to serve only you?"

_If you can't scare them…_ "You catch on quick." He made sure to put his mouth directly in front of her nose and exhale deeply; he was rewarded with her scrunched nose and her involuntary stepping back.

"Don't you dare." Oh,  _now_  she was getting upset that he responded with sarcasm. It figured that she tolerated being superior and looking down on him when he didn't fight back but heaven forbid that he believed she was wrong and vocalized it.

"To drain or not to drain. That is  _not_  the question. Whether 'tis more filling in the stomach to suck a blonde dry or to taste a brunette woozy. To drink… a drink…" His voice was rising in a crescendo and his arms waved, conducting an orchestra that only he could see. His cajole was starting to override the music; other people were starting to look at them with curious expressions. The foolish bartender chuckled to himself and reevaluated his will to live by considering conversing with the homicidal vampire.

"Not on my watch." Gone was the cheerful, if not sardonic Bonnie, and here came Humanity's Defender. Huh. That was actually a cool superhero name. Damon wondered if she would mind being called that.  _Ah, hell if I care. I'll make sure to call her that the next time she gets all condescending Bonnie…which should be, according to my calculations, in about…_  He mentally pretended to check his watch.  _Twenty-three seconds._

"I suppose ambition should be made of sterner stuff."

She slowly spun her stool seat to face the crowd and leaned casually against the bar. " _Romeo and Juliet_ ,  _Hamlet_ ,  _Julius Caesar_ ,I gotta say, you know your Shakespeare relatively well." A tight smile appeared and she gave a dainty sniff. Good, she was looking down on him.  _That's my girl; predictability is a blessing..._

"Well," he reasoned, "after about five decades of aimless wandering, there is little else to do but take a couple of college courses." He moodily focused on the glazed wood bar top. From the corner of her eye, Bonnie could see Damon smirk to himself and say, "Besides, being able to quote is a great way to get to know the hotter female student body. Literally and figuratively… Actually, just literally." Regardless of the simmering angel at his side, he continued to leer at the blonde. He could outrun the clinging short girl, couldn't he? Didn't she have better things to do than harass him? Like saving old people from trees and helping kittens cross the street?

"And here you had almost impressed me;" she deadpanned, "now I remember—you're an idiot."

"And brevity is the soul of wit, darling." He leaned towards her as pale fingers lightly brushed back a loose curl and flew away, before the witch could shove him away. When she gawked at him in shock, he studiously ignored her. She curbed the desire to stick her tongue out at him; just to be defiant, she put the lock back where it was.

"So you must be the Stephen Hawking of our generation!" She sarcastically exclaimed. Without thinking, she ruffled his hair and pinched his cheeks. She had to bite back a grin when he gave her a sour look. It took a lot to throw off the tempo of the proclaimed King of Swag.

"First and foremost, I am the everything of everyone's generation." Damon could not resist running his fingers through his hair, fixing what she messed up, and snootily send a sleazy grin. "Secondly, I'm at least Isaac Newton hot."

Gosh, he was arrogant. Bonnie could feel her eyes roll.  _If I'm not careful, my eyes are going to get stuck like that. It's not like I can help it; Damon brings out the worst in people._  The annoying beat of the bass was becoming more and more grating; the epileptic light cast stranger and stranger shadows as the beast danced on.

She did a mental retake and gave him a sideways glance. "How would you know how hot he was?" The vampire could have a weird sense of humor sometimes…

"I knew a person who knew him." It never ceased to amaze her how Damon could carelessly toss fascinating tidbits like that… "His brains were only equivalent to his silver tongue. Who else could charm the ladies with his stupid talk of apples and inertia?"…and then negate the awesomeness by his stupidity.

She abruptly stood up. "Alright, I am officially done with this—"

"Bonners, I think I know the answer!" His finger pointed dramatically to the ceiling. The dancers who had finally begun to return to their own mechanics once again had their interests peaked and began to watch the odd couple. She scowled at the onlookers until, one by one, they abashedly looked away and returned to what they were doing.  _One problem down_ , she turned to her more recent project, _another to go._

"Answer?" came the dry query. "I didn't even know there was a question. Oh, wait," she gave a deceptive grin "do I give you such a major aneurysm that you don't heal so you permanently become Stephen Hawking minus the brains?"

He shook his head and gave her a patronizing pat on the head. "No, silly rabbit, we clearly need to disperse the air of tension between us by dancing on the dance floor and laying it all out. Nothing held back." The vampire stood up from his chair and stretched until Bonnie was sure the other side of the room could hear the ominous  _crack_ coming from his bones. Then, pretending he was the perfect gentleman, he offered his hand to her.

Suddenly, the Bennett witch felt self-conscious. When she decided that a change of pace and brisk air would be welcomed to the suffocating dimensions of her room, (okay,  _maybe_  she wanted to make sure that Damon didn't get so drunk that he painted the town red. Literally.) She did not try to dress up to the nines. For Pete's sake, it was a Tuesday; she had figured that hardly anyone would be up-and-about! Now, she regretted that decision.

That silly blonde who was still making eyes at the tall, brunette man had on a gorgeous orange club dress that was definitely not appropriate for a small town like Mystic Falls. Everyone dancing was dressed in gorgeous attire. The old, long-sleeved T-shirt that hung slightly over faded bell bottoms weren't what she'd wear to school on a normal day, let alone out on the town. Ratty, Converse shoes were comfortable but definitely not comparable to the high stilettos. Then, she remembered Damon was asking. Did she actually consider saying yes?

She stared at the hand like it was hemlock until he let it drop to his side. Then she stole a page from his book and arched a brow. "So… I believe that is my cue to bow out." The witch backed away from him, "I mean, the only reason I came here was to make sure that you didn't kill anyone. If you're coherent enough to spout nonsense, then you're coherent enough to listen." She stopped and glared, commanding, "Don't kill anyone in this bar." The Bennett made a quick retreat.

"Wait…Don't go," his hands tightly gripped her wrist, binding her to the spot, "there's no one else I can battle wits with without feeling like I'm picking on the slow kid. Please?" Bonnie almost did not hear the last part; because she was leaning against his restraining arm, she could easily see the scene before her. The night that had started off as an almost-black blue, had lightened into a pale lavender. The music that had been a steady beat to their conversation had ebbed away into a slow song. Anyone still on the floor was stumbling out the door.

"I think there are some brilliant rocks outside that would love to converse with you…" Her half-hearted quip signified her growing indifference. She had promised Elena that she would keep an eye on Damon while she and Stefan had their me-time. How could she say no? Her best friend had already taken the mantle of Damon's leash; the least she could do would be to let her have a break. Of course it was also for her own benefit; she could not bear the thought of Damon going on a killing spree and injuring innocent citizens. He'd have to go through her first.

A dark hand rubbed at suddenly sleepy eyes. How long had she been out? She did  _not_  havetime for this. She had promised Caroline that she would help decorating for the next dance. Elena and she were supposed to meet after school today to begin to map out a schedule for when they would meet. Not to mention the American History and Chemistry test that were quickly approaching…

"Ouch…" A hand hovered over where his human heart once was. Simultaneously, Bonnie stopped perfunctory struggling and Damon stopped drawing her back. He was broodily examining her; she took an involuntary step backwards. Instead of getting in her personal space, like he was prone to do, he ambled back to his seat and turned his back to her. "You always manage to hurt me. You and that other one…" He could not finish the sentence. His head began to sink down onto the table.

The very (very) small part of her that barely enjoyed their light banter was gone. The engaging man who had seemed to be drunkenly pensive before, in the light of day just seemed pathetic. Her discomfort rose and the need to escape became overwhelming; it was never pleasant to be compared to Katherine. "Quoth I, 'Nevermore'", she softly murmured. Better to leave when he was not paying attention.

" _The Raven_?" his head emerged again and hooded, blue eyes pinned her in place. "That's not Shakespeare."

"Yeah, that was over about nine minutes ago…" she bit her lip then glanced at her very existent watch. It was already 6:30. School would be starting in about an hour and a half. "Look, I really have to go." She frowned, giving a soft sigh before gritting her teeth and offering, "Want me to call Stefan so he'll pick you up?" She could not help but hope that he answered in the negative; it would be really awkward talking to Stefan without Elena as a buffer.

"I knew you liked me!" Or he would completely ignore the question. She would take that as a no. In a complete turnabout, he sprung from his seat and launched himself at her waist, leaving the seat spinning like a bright red top. "Don't besties count their minutes apart?"

Thankfully, along with the slick tiled floor, her reflexes had improved vastly after deciding that her friend group now consisted of one vampire. (Yes, just one. She had to tolerate her best friend's boyfriend.) She swiftly tilted to the right and allowed him to fall to flat on his face to the sticky floor. The bartender that she had forgotten about laughed out loud and quickly muffled it when Damon stumbled to his feet and glowered at him. She distracted him, "Unless you mean counting the moments until we can be parted, no." A short, stilted hand wave, "Goodbye."

"The course of true love never did run smooth." It seemed that his erratic, intoxicated emotions were back to their depressed state. At least that was what she thought before he gave her a seductive smile. She rolled her emerald eyes before turning away and sauntering out of the bar and towards the rising sun. Not sleeping seemed to become a more and more common reality nowadays.

"Pretty good." Her head automatically turned slightly to the side to capture one last image of the ruminating man. "Next time, try using something more obscure to impress me." With those last words, she let the door slide shut behind her, the bell hanging overhead ringing.

The bartender listlessly rubbed a glass, patiently waiting for the sun to rise and fall and for the night to return. Until then, the bar could use some cleaning from what people left. He glanced unobstructively at his last patron. Now, he just had to convince him to leave.

The vampire thoughtlessly listened to the echoing bell fade away to silence. He was now the only customer still in the building. He abruptly switched seats and sat where the witch had been. He gave a deep whiff and gave a low-sounding sigh; he could still, barely, smell the pine. "Hmmm," he rubbed his chin slowly, "So she can be impressed…"

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	3. In Which A Variety of Lampyridae Specimens are Not Collected but Admired

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Like Falling Stars in February

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"It really is a beautiful night." It had been one of those timeless, perfect days where her friends were in-between scandals and true monstrosities. Today, her best friend could easily blend into a crowd without worrying about being attacked/kidnapped/killed due to being a vampire/doppelgänger/Elena Gilbert. If that weren't enough cause for celebration, the warm, summer night encouraged the lightning bugs to come out and dance, a sight Bonnie hadn't seen since childhood.

Everyone had unanimously decided to actually take the annual trip up to the Gilbert's summer cabin. Though it had been a taboo subject for the past couple of years, nearly everyone silently acquiesced to leaving Mystic Falls. When had battles against ancient, lurking beings evolved into being the norm? Was it before or after the arrival of the Salvatore brothers? Or maybe when she accepted her witchy inheritance? Perhaps the mythical and mundane mingling in Mystic Falls had been mandated and embedded into the foundations of the town at conception.

Whatever the case may be, Bonnie had decidedly resolved to banish all ruminations on the happenings of the underpinnings of the magical community. Just for tonight, she was just Bonnie Bennett. Admittedly, Bonnie Bennett sitting alone on the porch admiring the night while her friends were scattered, but Bonnie Bennett nonetheless.

Elena and Stefan had been making lovey-dovey eyes all during the ride, so it came to no one's surprise that they had disappeared the minute they arrived. Tyler and Matt were fooling around with an old guitar that had been lying, dusty and forgotten, in the attic. Caroline was trying to find the marshmallow, graham crackers, and Hershey's chocolate that she swore she had packed. Jeremy had wandered off to explore the area and reminisce past times. Though he had invited her, Bonnie declined; she wanted to remember too, but by herself. Moments of potential clarity were fleeting. Damon was…. Well, she had no clue where he was nor did she ca—

"It would be almost perfect if we didn't have to listen to Dumb and Dumbest's horrendous guitar-handling. What'd the poor thing ever do to them anyways?" Damon plunked down uncomfortably close. Bonnie pursed her lips upward and sighed, allowing her bangs to drift back down. As much as she wanted to defend her friends, there was no way she was going to go at it with Damon. Experience warned it would be a pointless venture.

"Don't see how the toms, err," he hastily corrected, "mountain lions in the neighborhood are ignoring the mating yowl of All-American and Teen Wolf."

Well, experience wasn't right all the time, was it? "As much as I'd like to argue with you about Matt and Tyler's singing prowess and possibly go around in meaningless circles; I'll pass. If I've learned anything these past few months it's that I'll just end up sinking to your level. You'll beat me with experience." She crossed her arms, waiting expectantly. Three…Two…One…

He stared at her for a moment before crowing triumphantly, "Did you say 'I win'?"

"The hell? How do you get an 'I wi—' No!" she threw her hands up in frustration, "I am not getting conned again. Forget this." Bonnie made to stand up.

"Aww, okay, okay, I'm sorry." He grabbed her arm and tugged down. "Please don't leave." He insincerely gave her wide eyes and a slightly trembling lower lip; not exaggerated enough to telegraph his phoniness, but just present enough that she could see it…

Damn, he was good. "I'm coming back," she insisted, "I was here first." She shook him off before stalking into the house.

She returned with a large, worn notebook in one hand and a slim, industrial pad in the other. An assortment of mechanical pencils poked out of her side pockets. She returned to her original seat, deciding to ignore how close Damon was. With guys like him, it was best to remain firm in convictions and unwilling to move. As she just said—she was here first.

"Hey, you can't catch fireflies like that."

"Oh, yeah?" Meticulously, Bonnie put the older book in her lap with the newer one positioned to her right; easy access. "Unlike you, I don't have time to be frivolous. My friends need me."

After settling down, she began to reach that ambivalent state that allowed her to speed through her work. Pages of the grimoire turned quickly as she jotted down notes and transcribed. For phrases she did not understand, she made a quick note and approximated the gist of the text. Retrospectively, it would have been nice if she brought along a few of the books she borrowed from the library with her. The older witches might have been ingenious with spells but their hand-writing was atrocious.

"Hey, Judgey." Normally, she would have ignored the epithet that Damon had knighted her with, but something peculiar in his voice caused her to look up.

Damon had somehow spirited himself to crouch in front of her. His frigid blue eyes were mesmerizingly focused on hers. He leaned forward and almost  _gently_  touched the cover page; his fingers shiveringly brushed her legs. Before she could make the decision to move, he snapped the book shut. Damon put one hand on her shoulder; Bonnie made some obligatory noise of protest.

"Put down the homework for second." He shifted to the side to give her a panoramic view of the outdoors. "Appreciate the moment."

Magnificent sugar pines sprung from the ground, silent, ever-present sentinels guarding denizens of the forest. The pine needles stood in sharp contrast to the setting sun's light blue veil. In the deeper recesses of twilight, pinpricks of light glowed clandestinely, ignorant of the people below on the earth. Cold and harsh, but comfortingly familiar.

Like a river of cascading star dust, fireflies meandered between the sky and ground. With a delicate web of light, they connected the lofty realms of the heavens with the humble grounds down below. It was dizzyingly impossible to try and follow an individual insect in their irregular patterns, yet together, they seemed to form some sort of ethereal arboreal creature.

Damon still had one hand on her shoulder; the other was reaching out. A speck of light floated from the river to land lightly on his fingertips. He slowly brought it back to his chest and offered it to the witch. The light skittered between his fingers in a hauntingly rapturous dance.

She hesitantly reached for the bug. Dark nights, fireflies, and bare feet echoed appeared in faint bursts across her memory, flashing intermittently and interspersed with the laughter of little girls and the humming of cicadas. Bonnie could almost taste the sweet flavor of simpler times. "Like falling stars in February," she murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing." She glanced, embarrassed, to the side and retracted her hand. The lightning bug flew from Damon's fingers to join its brethren. Obviously, the nostalgic feeling of being back here ( _a home away from home_ ) deceived her enough to believe that she could say anything. She had completely forgotten what kind of person was next to her.

"No," Damon firmly asserted, "it's definitely something. What's that about February?"

She stared at her lap and the closed book lying on top of it. Lithe fingers tenderly traced the symbols on the cover of the spellbook. "You're never going to let this go, are you?"

"You know me so well." He nimbly took his original seat. Bonnie could still feel the ghost weight of his hand. She rubbed her shoulder. Hard.

"You know, if you make fun of me, I'll hex you into a toad?"

"Scary, Princess Tiara, but I think you mean frog."

To her credit, she didn't miss a beat, "It's Princess Tiana and no, I  _do_  mean toad. Your face matches one perfectly." A nicely-timed  _ribbit!_ perfectly accentuated her argument.

Damon balefully glared at the dark forest. "Whatever…anyways, with what you were saying…?" Right, she forgot how persistent Damon could be when it came to finding out information that clearly did not pertain to him and causing strife for all parties involved. Deflection was always a failed strategy.

The notes that had been strummed quietly from the guitar (practically below human hearing) grew in volume. Thankfully, they abruptly stopped when Caroline gave the totally appropriate complaint. "Thank God." Damon stated. Bonnie silently echoed his sentiments. He slightly nudged her shoulder and feigned rapt attention.

"Well," she started slowly, "basically, Grams used to talk about how miracles happened every day." She stopped.

She hadn't purposely thought about her grandmother in such a long time. Elena and Caroline, the only other people who knew her just as well as Bonnie did, hardly brought her up, sensitive to their friend's feelings. Had she really passed away two years ago? Back then, a world of possibilities loomed on the horizon when she realized her witch heritage. It was supposed to be her and Grams. She was supposed to be at the helm of her training, passing along the grimoire at the end of her lessons along with the oral traditions of the lore. Now, she only had a bare understanding of the book as a marker of her grandmother. The true legacy of the Bennett witches would die with her. Suddenly, she felt so lonely, especially with the book on her legs, steadily growing in weight.

"Okay…?" The vampire gave moved his hands in a  _carry-on_  motion.

Bonnie shook her head. "And, February is such a short month, filled with holidays; it seems to leave very little time for amazingly impossible things to happen." She gazed contemplatively at the mesmerizing grains of light.

"February is only shorter by a couple of days." Damon began reasonably. "When looking at all the amounts of time, it doesn't make much sen—"

"Do you," she interrupted, "of all people, want to discuss the sensibilities of witches?"

He grinned. "I dunno. Is that an admittance of the inherent zaniness of witches from years of in-breeding?"

Don't engage. Don't engage. He'll just lead you around in a circle and demand to be answered if you start with him. "Anyways, as you pointed out," she continued as clinically as possible, "statistically-speaking falling stars can happen any day of the year. It's just with the busy shortness of the month, it can be hard to pay attention to the natural world. So, when you actually notice something as beautiful as a meteor, when you actually look away from the ground, current problems, and look towards something bigger…"

"So, you mean seeing things as they truly are?" Nature dictated that she snappishly reply that that was  _not_ what she meant but, seeing Damon unabashedly intrigued unconsciously lowered her defenses.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I suppose so." Damon had stood up and wiped off his pants against perceived stains. He offered a hand; she tilted her head in question instead and shook her head.

"That was pretty boring."

"Yeah?" she asked in a bored tone of voice. "I tried to distract you with talk of toads and frogs for a reason." She stubbornly refused to acknowledge the slight tearing of her heart. To damage a heart, you already had to have a piece of it.

"You were talking about amphibians?" At her look of chagrin, his eyes brightened with remembrance, "Oh right. I wasn't really paying attention to that part of the conversation. I was just doing that automatically."

"Aha!" she pointed excitedly towards the sky in mock-Platonian form. "I have verbal evidence that you don't think when you talk!" She made a mental note to start carrying around a recorder. These conversations she found herself in with Damon often could only be heard to be believed.

"Too bad no else heard you." A conniving grin.

"So," she leaned forward, "I guess that makes you a no-one, Elena." The named person sheepishly emerged from the woods followed by a less sheepish but still embarrassed-to-be-caught Stefan. Both of their clothes were rumpled. Elena's flannel shirt was buttoned incorrectly and Stefan had slightly smeared lipstick on the side of his neck. Their eyes were too bright. Three guesses as to what they were doing. And the first two didn't count.

"Ouch. That kind of hurts, Damon," Elena teased. The couple approached the porch with clasped hands.

Normally eloquent, Damon stuttered out "I didn't mean you." His eyes were riveted to the make-up on Stefan's neck. "As for my brother, though—"

"What is everyone else up to?" Stefan said. Casually, he put his hand on her best friend's hip. She leaned against his shoulder.

"Tyler and Matt were playing the guitar" Bonnie and Elena shared a grimace and then a conspiratorial grin. "Care is looking for supplies to make s'mores. Jeremy is," she motioned vaguely with her arm, "around."

Elena turned to her boyfriend and flicked her head to the cabin. "Want to go help Caroline? I could really go for s'mores."

"Sure." They went inside with Damon's eyes trailing Elena's movements. Bonnie could hear exclamations of surprise and the chattering of the girls punctuated with the deeper voices of the boys. The guitar was taken back up; this time, a more practiced pair of hands played.

Instead creating a calming atmosphere, Damon seemed to be more strained. As the notes floated from behind them, he abruptly stood, unwilling to listen to more. "Let's dance." He grabbed her shoulder again; this time, it was harshly done. He yanked her up and against him. The vampire tried to lead her from the porch.

"No." Her curls bounced from side to side. She insistently pushed against his alabaster arms. "I'm not going to be your distraction tonight. You need to find someone else."

From her position, she could not see his eyes; his face was tilted upward. She could, however, seem him mouth, "Like falling stars in February…" Sure that her point was made, the witch made to go inside and join in the making of desert, white hands went under arms. She barely had time to squeak, much less protest before the forest flew underneath her feet. Suddenly, she and Damon were precariously perched on the tall sycamore by the cabin. The tree  _creak_ ed ominously.

She automatically flung her arms around him. "Don't worry. I won't let you fall." He didn't seem to have a complaint at the tight embrace. Not wanting to give him the visual satisfaction of seeing her scared, she slowly removed her hands. One of the mechanical pencils that had been in her pocket was hanging precariously before plummeting to the ground. She did not see where it fell. She resolutely promised herself that she would not ask him to help her out of the tree. She would just call to Stefan if it came to it.

At her incredulous look, he gestured toward the dark sky. "Besides," he began with a charismatic grin, "isn't this the perfect place to seeing a falling star?"

She almost agreed. Almost.

Instead, she sat there, with bare, dangling legs.

With curly locks, floating in the high breeze.

And with a smile, illuminated by the stars and fireflies.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo


	4. In Which a Modicum of Sucrose is Requested Yet Not Procured

 

* * *

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Like Falling Stars in February

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If there was one thing that Damon hated it was confrontation. Okay, maybe he liked taking care of the various foes that popped up around Mystic Falls. And okay, maybe he liked needling his baby brother sometimes. And he couldn't deny that sometimes arguing with Alaric was stress-relievi—

Huh. Scratch that. He  _did_  enjoy confrontation. That still didn't explain why he was not confronting the witch that was haunting his living room. With his vampiric hearing, he heard her coming a mile away. She just opened his door, walked down his hallway, and was theoretically surreptitiously gazing at his form. Granted, he was just curled up on the couch, low enough that she couldn't see him over the backboard. And it wasn't unusual for the Salvatore brothers to leave the television running on all day. So maybe there was a reason she had been standing there for at least seven minutes. Curiouser and curiouser.

He supposed he would have to be the bigger person and talk. "What do you want?"

"Some sugar." Her heart didn't jump in the way that would have indicated she was surprised. She must have known he had been there the entire time and didn't say anything. And people dared to accuse him of being an Edward Cullen rip-off.

"That's easy to fill." With an impressive flip, he easily vaulted over the couch and into her self-ordained  _Personal Space_. He decided to go with the usual,  _Piss-Off Bonnie Until She Storms Away in Disgust_  routine. His nose practically brushed her forehead in feigned affection as he gently put his hand on her shoulder. "Just come into the kitchen and I'll show you around…"

"Nope," she staunchly affirmed, "get it yourself." He knew being the bigger person would suck; despite his best intentions, Bonnie's heartbeat remained annoyingly steady. Instead, her lips were curled in slight amusement. Damn, time to pull out the big guns.

Pout Face, Activated. "Gosh darn it to heck, witchling. I thought you were subtly coming on to me." The hand that was on her shoulder slipped down to her waist. Consequentially, her little smirk disappeared.

"I'm not surprised," she bit out harshly. She stepped backwards and gave his hand a light pat. "Your sense of self-entitlement has always been unfounded." The witch pretended to wipe off where he had touched her with disgust. Ha, the Plan was almost fully complete. Time to wrap up this interaction and have enough time to retrieve his buttery popcorn still being heated in the microwave. These movies weren't going to watch themselves.

"And I thought you had manners." He jumped back on to the couch ( _Parkour_!) and began to fiddle around for the remote. "Oh wait, that was 'unfounded' by you barging into my home. Uninvited." Perfect in execution. It had just the right amount of flippancy and disregard. Once he found the remote, mysteriously lodged underneath the upside down popcorn bowl, Damon began to turn up the volume from its dull murmur. Their usual dance just was not doing it for him today; maybe the stars would be more entertaining.

Despite what the gods usually decreed, even Damon Salvatore ought to be allowed to pout uninterrupted.

"Just because you're bitter that you can't enter everywhere uninvited doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer too." Clearly, the gods decreed that witchy intervention was necessary. Instead of moving toward the door like he predicted, she moved forward, further into his domicile. Like she owned the place, she casually rested her elbows on the backboard of the couch. Cocky. Sure. Could she not take a hint?

He barely glanced sideways at her. "I guess the rules of common decency don't worry you, do they?"

"Funny that you should say that." The remote control that he had left by his side, was quickly snatched, by cunning hands. The volume was lowered. Sauntering, she strode to the farthest piece of furniture from him—the armchair, and sat down. Her phone was pulled out of her pocket and gazed at briefly before shooting off a quick text to somebody.

Despite her seemingly innocent appearance, Damon could smell something rotten in Denmark. Her pose was just a hair to nonchalant, her gaze just slightly too quick to avert meeting his.

Well, the best offense was pretending to be completely oblivious.

"Funny that you're in my house. Neither Elena nor baby Salvatore are here." And wasn't he painfully and horribly aware of it. Well, maybe it was a blessing in disguise; he doubted he could stand to see all the lovey-dovey expressions being exchanged while he was in the vicinity. Honestly, this entire conversation could definitely go in the Pointless Category in the Richter's Scale of Unmanageable…Okay, that metaphor got out of hand quickly. Anyways, even though he knew why she was here and she knew that he knew why she was here, he was still a little surprised.

It wasn't exactly a common occurrence that his wrath was visited upon the innocent townsfolk. It had been  _weeks_  since he killed anyone and they had definitely deserved it. So, why the Bennett witch thought that he was going to go plumb-crazy and massacre a lot of people was beyond his scope of reasoning.

"That's fine." She pretended to be uncaring. "Neither of them have to be here to…Is that  _My Fair Lady_  on Lifetime?" The witch unconsciously leaned forward to focus on the movie that she had previously ignored. The remote in hand turned up the volume again. He pretended to disregard the decidedly cute way that her attention was rapturously focused on the television. Her ballet shoes along with her scarf were casually tossed to the side in an attempt to get comfortable.

"You're a fan? Of musicals?" Figures she would be into movies that featured people spontaneously breaking out to an explicably well-choreographed song-and-dance. Not that he cared. About what she was into.

"I dabble." Still, best to save that tidbit of information, if for no other reason but to lord it over her head. If the gods hated him, let it at least be known that he was a vindictive bastard to their messengers.

Just as he was about to make some snide comment, the microwave timer went off. Bonnie experimentally sniffed the air and, with glee in her voice, crowed, "I knew I smelled popcorn!" Ha, like hell he was going to. Unfortunately, she chose that moment to burn him with a beatific and imploring smile.

Ugh. He had gotten soft.

"Well, today is your lucky day, the Number Two Salvatore is still available for service." He gave a gaudy bow and skulked to the kitchen.

Her snort and uncharacteristic giggle still followed him. The disconsolate environment of the boarding house seemed to brighten momentarily before settling back into the usual gloom. "Ha. Number two." An uncharacteristic, unnecessary, and evil giggle.

The Salvatore kitchen was very dark. After living in this house intermittently for well over a century, he had the entire floor plan memorized. He skirted the stack of garbage tucked in various locations (Hey! Don't look at him like that! It's not like they needed the kitchen anyway!) to get to the popcorn. It might have been a little easier to get back to his movie if there had been a single clean bowl in the entire room. He decided to settle with the bowl that was soaking in the sink. It was probably clean. Barely dried, he dumped the snack into the bowl.

He entered the room with a practiced gait and purposefully placed the bowl on the edge of the coffee table. He was also able to take back the remote control on the sly. "Careful, I'm rubbing off on you." He sighed then settled back into his spot of the sofa. So, it seemed that the witch really was not going to be leaving anytime soon. Ironic—when he tried to be nice to her, she bluntly rejected his kindness; as soon as he tries to ignore/kick her out, she latches on.

"Eww, please don't ever put 'rubbing' between 'I' and 'you' again. Or ever, for that matter."

"No probs." He made the TV even louder and ignored her rude glare. The vampire stretched his arms until a distinct  _crack_  was heard. Then, he feigned continued interest in  _My Fair Lady_. Something wasn't right.

_Let's see_. He had mercilessly teased and taunted her, just like normality dictated. He had inarguably won all the verbal fencing they had done the past few months. He even blatantly ignored her. She knew that he knew that she knew that….whatever that psychobabble meant. So, why was she still here?

Elena was rarely in this house anymore and even if Bonnie was fond of Stefan, she would never come to visit him in his house. And especially not alone. If anything, she would have contacted Elena to see where the two were and met them there. No one wanted to interact with the surly older brother if they didn't have to. Time to do a little subversive trawling. Damon gave himself an obligatory, precursory sniff, "Do I reek?"

"I'd rather not get close enough to smell you." Eyes were still glued to the screen.

Time to appeal to her sense of politeness. "This couch is big enough for both of us. Here, have a seat. I even have popcorn." He patted the space right next to him and moved the bowl closer to him.

"Wow, you're starting to become a real gentleman."

"Starting to, HoneyBons? Try have always been." He sniffed. "I can't help if you don't notice these things. Actually, I think you're just becoming accustomed to my face." Green eyes gave a perfunctory roll before resuming their attentions to the set. Somewhere in TV Land, a grubby brunette sang a trite song about being "loverly". He had thought that that was the end of their conversation; imagine his surprise when the burgundy cushion beside him  _poof_ ed with the sound of a human body. At his incredulous look, the witch gave a sheepish shrug. She reached over his lap for the popcorn.

Looks like a falling star.

Like a kid, her elbows were resting on her; Bonnie's head was resting lightly on her hands. Springy hair trembled imperceptibly while its owner flawlessly spoke the lines along with the actors. To be honest, Damon had thought that progress between the two was little and far in-between. When they weren't dealing with supernatural problems, they were dealing with romantic ones. Friendship was generally much farther down the list, not to mention Friendship That Was Not. For Bonnie to put up only token resistance….

They continued to sit in charitable silence as the movie ended. Another one began. And another. And another. No matter what movie came on, Bonnie was able to recite it impeccably. It was only until the musical,  _The King and I_ ,began and a ballet was performed to the audience of a King and his court that the vampire stirred.

As the memory of a song teased his mind, he unthinkingly asked, "So, Hermione, shall we dance?"

Bonnie sighed, grabbed the remote and paused the movie. "Wait, Hermione? Did you just pay me a compliment? She was an awesome witch."

"Whatever makes you lower your guard—" he leaned toward her side of the couch suggestively. Unlike normal what she normally did, she stood her ground…er, couch. Bonnie Bennett stared him straight in his eye and smiled. Not to be deterred (and maybe slightly annoyed), Damon pretended that failing to ruffle her was his plan all along and snatched the remote from her hand.

"No, no. Up until this point you've only flattered me when you had something to gain from it, either a necklace or Elena's gratitude," she ticked off on her fingers. "That necklace is long since destroyed and she is no longer in the vicinity…"

Right. He unpaused the movie. "By the way, when are—"

"So what could you possibly want from me?" She rudely spoke as he wasn't even talking. Time to reassert himself into this conversation.

"I thought you were brighter than that."

"Huh?" Even with a look of confusion, her already-buttery hands found their way into the popcorn bowl.

"I mean, I've been everything but subtle about it…"

"What…" She paused the television. While she had done grabbed the popcorn, her other hand had been minutely inching towards the remote. Damn, she was good at being sneaky.

"I guess calling you Hermione was a bit of a stretch; she was definitely more observant."

Bonnie hesitated.

"Will you dance with me? We could really jam out to… whatever this musical is about." He couldn't resist adding: "Also, in case you forgot, there's no one else home." His eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

"That was your question? I thought  _you_  were more observant than that."

"So your answer is…?"

She leaned in. "Read my lips," she whispered huskily.

"Gladly. Are they  _The Chamber of Secrets_ or  _The Half-blood Prince_? You know, I was fond of the light-hearted adventures of a school boy; however, it became tiresome prattle when you are made aware the much darker tone the series takes when Cedric Diggory dies. Personally, I—" his attempts to distract and deflect were misguided; she saw it coming and expertly batted his hands.

"Whatever, Pretty boy."

"Why, BonBon, I think I'm beginning to wear on you—you've never given me a compliment before."

"What? That's not a… God, Damon if you were any fuller of yourself, I swear you would have your own gravitational field."

"Is that witch-speak foFr you saying that you find me…  _attractive_?"

"No, in fact, I think I am going to defy gravity for about… say… an eternity."

"So you're saying this force between us is magnetic? Perhaps even inevitable?"

"About as inevitable as Elena falling in love with you. Oh. Wait…" A slight grin ghosted her face as a cherubic smile met Damon's frown.

"Ouch, Sabrina, that was definitely unnecessary. I don't ever bring up the fact how you and all your witchiness lost a pimpled loser to a dead vampire ghost." He was already a bad week. A witch was friggin'  _ruining_  his alone time and the only time he got to watch musicals with wild abandon. It was his alone time to do whatever he wanted to do. And he had never asked for a judgmental witch.

Obviously Bonnie had grown tired as well; her easy smile had disappeared and the face that seemed very sinister to Damon appeared. "AAAAnd, I believed I fulfilled my quota for charity work for this week."

"Charity work?"

"Make that for this month."

"What do you mean?"

"See, it meant a lot to Elena and Stefan to be able to celebrate this weekend without any interference from the older Salvatore brother." She superfluously checked her plum nails. "I promised them my services and, lo and behold, the all-knowing brother is none the wiser."

Backfire. Opening made. Damon for the win. "…Except you just told me. They won't leave me behind that easily." He bounced to his feet. They couldn't have gotten too far. There were only so many haunts inside of Mystic Falls. As he stood up, he checked his pockets for keys.

Like read his mind, she said, "Tell me, do you here the pitter-patter of little feet or smell the constantly dripping diesel oil from Stefan's gas-guzzler? They're long gone. Good luck catching them." Her arms stretched above her heads as she cracked her back.

"Damn it." His palm hit his face. Of course Stefan and Elena left town quickly. They would have known that Damon Salvatore would have preferred to not be…

And what about Bonnie? He had thought it peculiar that the witch had come to his house in the first place. To ask for sugar in a condescending voice was one thing. To refuse to storm away in a hissy fit was another. Clearly he had underestimated her magical abilities to outmaneuver him.

"I know the feeling. Since I've met you, I've become convinced that someone has a vicious vendetta."

"Get out of my house." One hand remained cover his face; the other pointed towards the front entrance of the Salvatore house. He did not have to entertain a tricky guest. Hell, he didn't have to entertain a tricky,  _uninvited_  guest. Despite the small amount of fun that he had had, there was a reason as to why he chose to be alone on New Year's Eve.

"Gladly." Bonnie quickly gathered the stuff she unceremoniously dropped off in the house. Her shoes was gathered from the small pile of old bourbon bottles by the coffee table. The scarf rapidly wrapped around her neck. January was still a nippy month. It seemed that he always was causing someone to storm away. And not just Elena.

Besides, she had better things to do than babysit a megalomaniac. Sleep, for instance.

As she turned to leave, a reluctant voice called out, "Wait a minute."

Damon's head blocked a portion of the television giving the appearance of a halo. Resisting the urge to role her eyes at the visual irony, she waited. "Elena would kill me if her best friend got killed by any Tom, Dick, and Harry. You should stay. Just for tonight." Too disgusted, she merely turned to go out the door when Damon jumped into view. He was already blocking the door, taking off her scarf. He somehow managed to herd her back to her spot while not touching her.

"I didn't know you cared." She settled back into her spot.

"I don't." To prove that deep down, in his heart of hearts, that he did not, he turned up the volume and blatantly ignored her. The King and Anna were in a golden ballroom dancing in each other's arms and singing.

_Or perchance,_ _When the last little star has left the sky._

In order to further prove how little he cared, Damon, resolved to clean up the house. At least the living room. The books sprawled across the floor were gathered and put on the bookshelf. Never mind that there was no apparent rhyme or reason to his own Dewey Decimal System. The various wrappers from Halloween candy were tossed into the wastebasket from the kitchen. He considered recycling the bourbon bottles but then remembered he had a brother for that sort of thing.

_Shall we still be together_   
_With are arms around each other_ _  
_ _And shall you be my new romance?_

Everything was as clean as it would ever be; he turned back to the couch. The witch was curled on the couch, her legs clearly crossing the cushions of the couch. Both the popcorn bowl and remote control were on his side of the couch—a clear attempt at sympathy. Drowsy, emerald eyes had a hard time focusing on the Damon and were slowly closing. He suppressed a snicker and sat down for the final time that night, the bowl and control were put on the coffee table as were his legs.

He slightly leaned over to her and asked slightly sardonically (slightly affectionately), "Still want that sugar?" She declined him by promptly falling asleep.

He barely felt how, due to the lack of space on the velvety couch, her toes just barely skimmed his thighs, despite her diminutive height. And he barely noticed how her breaths evened out into a gentle, adorable snore.

_On the clear understanding_   
_That this kind of thing can happen,_

_Shall we dance?_  
_Shall we dance?_  
 _Shall we dance?_

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

* * *

 


	5. In Which a Slight Purview of a World that Can Never Be is Seen

  
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Like Falling Stars in February

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

  
One, two, three, four… Bonnie slowly counted backwards in her head. She had almost willingly approached one Damon Salvatore sitting at the festive, round table by himself. While they had approached a feasible Friendly Enemy sort of relationship, she was unsure if it was her place to talk to him in a non-condescending attitude. The pristine white linens that Caroline had lovingly and painstakingly ironed for the Big Day were soaked and wrinkled, likely from the raucous various types of supernatural beings attending. His legs crossed and shoes on the table also probably didn't help matters.

Far be it from her to complain but having a white-themed wedding seemed like a prime opportunity for something to be unambiguously stained.

Especially if a vampire who has been known to easily shed blood remained unsupervised. Even though the tuxedo he sported was perfectly tailored and his lounging portrayed a seemingly laidback attitude, Bonnie knew that appearances could be deceiving. He was purposely faking that woe-is-me pose, his Prada Derby shoes, neatly polished, chair tilting precariously on two legs, one arm flung over his face in abject shame. Damon was a good actor but she'd be damned if she fell for it.

She took a deep breath and weighed the potential wrath of Caroline allowing her wedding ("Ummm, Caroline? Isn't your wedding in June?") to be wrecked by a devil-may-care vampire or to have an infuriating conversation with said vampire.

Really no choice at all.

"What are you doing here?" Best to begin with as diplomatic approach as possible. Things might devolve, but even Damon had to succumb to the rules of basic etiquette and return the gesture of diplomacy.

"Taking a break." He sounded neither surprised nor upset at the question. Likely, from the fact he had a heard her approach, her heartbeat from a hundred yards off. The murmur of the crowd as the guests milled about certainly did not impede his keen hearing ability.

"By not being a best man?"

He raised his pointer finger in objection. "Hey, I'm still his best man."

Bonnie hmmed before purposely moving closer to his chair. "Well, if you still were, you would be helping find a music replacement for the nonexistent band." She firmly adjusted his chair onto four legs and swept his legs of the table cloth. His arm was moved to his side and his lapels slightly fixed. "Not just sitting on your thumbs."

"I warned Alaric that something was missing." He smirked. Eyes roved up and down in an appreciative manner. He took the white rose tucked in his breast pocket and dramatically took a whiff before placing it behind her ear. She gave just a delicate snort. "Lookin' good, Bonkers."

Diplomacy, diplomacy. She pretended to adjust her plum dress. "When?"

"A couple of minutes ago."

"You mean we've been sitting here for over an hour until you realized that there was no music at the reception?" Bonnie took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. Clearly, the brunt-force tactic was still the best tactic with Damon Salvatore. "Look at you. The patron saint of helpfulness."

God forbid that any interaction between the two ended with a severe migraine on her part, trying to reason Damon logic. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Caroline, looking slightly frazzled, glance at her and stop her march to whatever new problem has arisen. The stressed puckering between her brows which were a good indicator to the Final Countdown levels, were ever-increasing. Caroline slowed her steps, stopped, and rocked back and forth, calculating the most prominent problem.

Bonnie slightly shook her head and gave a shoo-shoo motion with her hands. She could handle Damon. Nonetheless, Caroline mimed a person typing on an old-fashioned typewrit…oh. Call her if she needed back-up.

"Would you care for a seat?" He asked; his formal Southern gentlemen upbringing coming slightly to the forefront. Carefully, he rose to his feet and pulled out the chair next to him with a grand flourish. She would have been more amused if he didn't continue pulling out the chair in attempt to get her to fall. Her hard-pressed lips put a swift end to his childish antics.

She gripped the edges of her seat and allowed herself to be pushed in. "Yes, because of course I have come to really enjoy our little exchanges."

"Sarcasm is not becoming, Prue-Pipes-and-Phoebe."

Bonnie paused. "That's new."

The place she was sitting at was untouched, the silverware pristine. Clearly, another sign of a disastrous supernatural wedding. Who planned for extra space at a wedding anyways? Maybe people were finally understanding danger associated with any function intermixed with the supernatural and bailed out after hearing the guest list.

For that matter, why was Damon sitting her all alone? As the best man, surely he should have been sitting with the other wedding party members. She surreptitiously began noting her exits as Damon answered, "Yeah, I always feel pressured to come up with new material when you're around."

"But Charmed?" Push the chair out. Obliviously, he filled her wine glass with some clear liquid—probably vodka or gin. She sniffed it before scrunching her nose and raising an eyebrow.

When she looked at him, she could have sworn that he had the fondest look on his face, before it shifted into scorn.

"Yeah, Mother insists that I drink water for tonight. Couldn't tell you the reasoning behind that."

"You know Caroline would kill you if she heard you call her that?"

He smirked. "Who said anything about Caroline?"

Well, ask a stupid question…she sighed.

"It was critically-acclaimed show that featured an all-female leading cast of hot witches. You must have known that I would go there eventually. I'm just surprised that you've never seem to, you know, learn more about your heritage." He stared down the glass with a look he usually reserved for Problem of the Week Baddies. Finally, after much internal debate, he threw back the water and took a dramatic gulp.

"Yeah," she casually sipped at her glass—the perfect sign of poise and restraint, "that show is a wonderful way to learn about witch culture; because most of us can afford to live in a high-rise apartment in San Francisco."

"Well, there you go judg—Hey!" He poked her in the shoulder—the perfect display of annoying behavior, "So you do watch it?" The chair that he had been sitting on in all but the correct ways, took further abuse when he dragged it closer to Bonnie. The screeching probably meant skid marks that she was going to have to clean up later as a part of the free clean-up crew Caroline had conscripted…err, asked. She joined the other guests in glaring at the tumultuous behavior.

"I never denied it. I just thought that Prue-Pipes-and-Phoebe naming was a little lackluster."

He studied her intensely before abruptly announcing, "Your words somehow lack the venom they usually contain."

She shifted in her seat primly.

"Galinda?" When she glanced at him again, his mesmerizing crystal blue eyes were piercing. As much as she liked to pretend, Damon was hardly as shallow as he pretended to be. The insurmountable wall that he had been his first ironclad defense had not exactly changed, rather her perception might have shifted. The layered stones were still present but the natural cracks between them had chipped and opened slightly enough to view through. And the light was peeking through.

Any new problems that arose throughout her…association with Damon, had widened those cracks and allowed her to better see him. His actions had hardly changed; but his reasoning had become clearer. Even with the impregnable wall, he was reaching out and attempting to make a human connection, one bereft of either revenge or exploitation. If Bonnie could admit one thing, Damon Salvatore had gotten better.

"…Hmmm?"

"Have you ever…just been reallllly tired of fighting?" Damon drawled. He wasn't looking at her when he asked; instead, he adjusted the silverware and carefully pointed the tines of the fork towards an older woman with a hair piled haphazardly. The vampire scooped some of the decorative glass beads scattered on the empty plates and judiciously balanced them on the handles. Using vampiric speed, he fisted his hand and slammed on the impromptu catapult. The bead arched beautifully over the table and plopped in the nest of hair, nestled like a robin's egg.

At least, for a certain definition of better. "What do you mean?"

"I mean everything—" He waved his hands to indicate some ephemeral entity, "vampires, werewolves, yourself…" Cut glances towards attacked tresses.

"I don't fight myself." To make a point, she snatched the fork and any nearby beads from Damon's vicinity. Then, she adjusted his bowtie that was slightly askew.

"Well, actually you do." He fixed one of her errant curls before leaning casually back on his chair again. The older woman still didn't notice the change to her hair. "How else could you explain the desire to help 'amoral' creatures such as myself without expecting anything in return? There must be some dichotomy; one side wanting to help me out of the goodness of your heart and the other wanting to kill me with about the same vigor."

"One," A strict finger, pointed towards the heavens. "I don't help you at all; I help Elena and try my best to make her happy despite you. I could care less about your happiness. Two," Another finger joined the first. "I do expect something from you. No harming of innocents."

"Oh, that little requirement…" He tried to coyly grab Bonnie's utensils but she brushed away his attempts with a bit of magic that caused the forks to land like tiddlywinks on the other half of the table. He frowned then slouched in his seat.

"If I didn't, who would?"

"What?"

"I was answering your question."

"Oh."

Mission achieved. Damon appeared to be causing minimal amount of damage (she redacted the missile report she was preparing to give to Caroline after she left Damon). Wedding could precede as planned and she could join her friends. She had done her job. Unasked even.

She pushed her chair back and gathered her dress in a bunch in one hand. Her hand floated hesitantly over her fork before sighing and letting it go. She couldn't do damage control for everything all night. Damon was just going to have to learn self-control. "Little witch?"

"…Yes?" She began to push her chair in.

"Do you still hate me?" She stopped.

Hatred was such a strong word. Once upon a time, she would have answered with a resounding yes. Of course she hated the man who instigated nearly any trouble that blew into Mystic Falls on a nearly yearly basis since high school. Of course she hated the man who brazenly ruined relationships with little self-control and, ultimately, little consequence. That man was easy to hate.

This vampire, this…person in front of her? It was a little bit more complicated than that.

"Of course..." she hedged, "you're a selfish bastard."

"So… in all seriousness, you'll never forgive me?" How had she missed him rising from his seat as well to stand with her? He had crossed the bridge of space they normally gave one another and was definitely in the realm of Personal Space Disruption. He stared her down.

A Damon Stare used to be extremely uncomfortable if not intimidating. Now, she saw it for what it was. A look of incredulity mixed with a pinch of confusion followed by a dash of slow hopefulness. Purely Salvatore-patented.

"You basically caused my grandmother to die a premature death and sentenced my mother to an eternity of being separated from her powers, her birthright. How would you feel if someone did the same to you?" Two could play at the no-blinking game.

"You're deflecting." Nonetheless, it was he who could not seem to hold her gaze.

"It should be impossible to forgive you." She began to back away, he was not pulling her down this rabbit hole of rhetoric. She had paid her dues at least five times over.

His eyes lightened at the 'should'. "I thought witches like to believe six impossible things before breakfast." He lightly grabbed her hand and began to escort her away from the table. People who were still eating/pining for the music hmphed coolly. That they should have to push in their chairs for someone exiting. For an elderly gentleman who gave Bonnie an extra nasty sneer, Damon oh-so-smoothly pushed the person's chair closer to the table. Helpful.

She tugged his hand. Somehow, Damon had managed to turn this on its head. (Again.) "That would be magicians."

"Pots and blacks and kettles." He waved away the correction. "You still didn't answ—"

"Can we not do this tonight?" For the this she quickly pointed at him then at her.

"What's this?" He imitated the motion.

"I'm not quite sure."

"Alright I'll drop it… on one condition." The hand that had been guiding her, suddenly spun her to face him. He dropped to one knee and continued to hold her hand.

"Are you proposing to me? Get up." A few onlookers, those who did not know her personally and could not hear what Damon said were beginning to excitedly chatter away. Nothing more romantic than getting proposed to at someone else's wedding. Clearly, Damon had planned to put her in a bind. With the mundane interlopers, she couldn't magic herself away nearly as easily.

"Dance with me." Her cheeks felt heated. Under the spotlight was her least favorite place. She was the silent background manager. It was her job to work behind the scenes and help. Anyone of her friends knew that she would do anything in her power to sacrifice and bring them their due happiness. It was not her place to be surrounded by unknown attention.

Damon smirked at her. Like a life vest thrown to a drowning person, she clung to it. She narrowed her eyes in practiced response. Snark, she could handle.

"I think you've asked me at least five times now. The answer is still no."

"Fifty nos are still an eventual yes in Damon's book." He was still on the floor. She regally arched an eyebrow at him and he pulled himself off the floor. To the looker-ons, he painted a goofy expression on his face and gave a big thumbs up. She said yes! He pumped his fist in mock excitement. The crowd politely cheered, secretly disappointed that they couldn't hear her response.

"And that didn't sound the tiniest bit rape-y." she said without missing a beat. "Nope, definitely not. By the way, referring to yourself in third-person is totally not self-absorbed."

Having brushed off his knees, he coyly leaned forward and cradled her neck with his thumb lightly brushing her hear. He leaned a little further forward. He murmured into her ear: "I've never admitted to being unabsorbed, Bons."

For a couple of beats, they breathed together. One breath. Two.

She sighed. "…Okay."

"Really? That's all it takes? Persistence?"

"Don't make me change my mind." She feigned going back to her seat but allowed Damon to pull her towards him.

"No, no, don't want to do that." He angelically crossed his heart. Hope to die. Bonnie might have squinted her eyes to study him closer. "Come on." He gripped her waist tightly and pulled her closer. "No noodle-y arms either, Bons. If we're going to dance by ourselves in front of an audience, better give them something to remember." He spun, slowly at first but increasing in tempo until Bonnie didn't quite know where she was. The smear of colors brightened and dampened until they settled on an intermediate level of saturation. They really were by themselves on the dance floor.

Bonnie glanced around. Most people were still waiting for some music to play to work up the nerve to ask another to dance with them. She snorted. What was this, a junior high dance? Well, considering who I'm dancing with, I'd say the maturity level is about the same…Damon proved her point by dipping her so low that she could see the grain of wood on the floor. Instead of huffing, she giggled.

Damon laughed as well.

"What's so funny?" His eyebrows danced and a smile ghosted across his face.

"Well, my dear, who would have thought that to get you to dance with me would have taken the complete lack of music?"

A casual shrug. "I suppose impossible things are happening every day."

"As impossible as falling stars in February?"

"I knew I shouldn't have shared that with you!" She shoved his chest. Hard. Hard enough to squirm out of his grasp. He just smiled, appeasing. "That was a personal memory and only you could have taken something so innocent, so pur—" She poked his breast pocket. Hard.

"Hey, Bonnie?" He grabbed her shoulders and rubbed cheeks with her, like they were rabbits or something equally ridiculous. His left hand sneakily adjusted the white rose that had started to droop during her mini-tirade.

"What?" She was older than five but she couldn't help the slight pout on her face. Not to mention the slight smirk on his face that she was about to pinch off.

"I have a brilliant idea."

"Doubt it."

"Why don't we just shut up, dance, and enjoy the moment?" The stares from other people seemed to fade away as they spun on the dance floor. She could have sworn that she caught Caroline's slack-jawed stare if Bonnie didn't know how her friend needed to keep moving and managing things to function. Her hemline skirted the wooden panels as Damon led them in a self-assured manner. He gently (since when has Damon ever been gentle?) placed one hand on his shoulder, the other in his own hand. The simple one-two steps had evolved into a more formal dance. Bonnie could almost see the decades old origin of the steps. He pulled her through the motions and swept her just off center of the dance floor's spotlight.

She could almost imagine a time, early, early in her childhood when she would have enjoyed a dance like this. The memory of scented crushed pine needles and the warbling of an old cassette player floated briefly through her head before disappearing even faster.

She stumbled slightly in their dance, but his strong hold around her waist kept her from falling face-first on the dance floor. "Damon Salvatore, I can be quiet and I can dance but I absolutely will not enjoy the moment."

But she did.

The smooth motions that had been tempered by an internal temperate rhythm slowed to a crawl. She leaned her head against his chest. How strange for a dead person to have a heartbeat. Normally, she would have never been close enough to tell but, for now, the tempo of their dance synchronized with his heart perfectly.

She tipped her head up, softly towards his ear. "Hey, Damon?"

"What?"

"I have a horrible idea." Bonnie stood on her toes. The sensible heels gave her little height advantage.

"Doubt it." He accommodated her by bending his neck downward. The small palm resting on his labels tightened minutely. Green eyes, mesmerizing and molten found the icy blue orbs. One beats. Two.

Somehow, despite all predictions and predilections and misdirections, his lips managed to meet hers with no other remark. And they continued to dance their way into a world of Macarenas. A world of borrowed sugar.

A world of falling stars in February.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes a tale of elusive romance. While I really enjoyed writing this, gotta say, I fell into the trap of ignoring Damon's faults. Still I wanted to show a possible relationship evolution. They would eternally be arguing their ways into happiness.Thank you, everyone and I hope you're night is filled with a thousand falling stars.
> 
> Best Wishes!

**Author's Note:**

> Best Wishes!


End file.
